Comfort and Joy
by karaokegal
Summary: Sam spends Christmas Eve and Christmas Morning with the people who mean the most to him. Some schmoop, some smut, some het, some slash. Please note this is Life on Mars UK


_So this is Christmas  
And what have you done  
Another year over  
And a new one just begun._

John Lennon was still alive and the Americans would be fighting their lost cause for another two years without learning a damn thing, if the world in 2006 was anything to go by.

Sam's previous Christmas had been a mundane affair. He'd spent an hour searching Harrods for something he could give Maya without revealing that he had no idea what she really wanted as a present or otherwise. Dinner with mum was been (was or had been?) punctuated by Christmas songs he'd already been sick of for weeks, which were still easier to listen to than deep sighs or leading questions about the state of his relationship with Maya. _Bloody, miserable holiday_ he'd thought at the time, and meant it.

Tonight was Christmas Eve 1973, and Sam was determined to enjoy every minute of it.

He'd come home a bit early, despite Gene's grumblings that the criminals had no intention of taking the night off to observe the birth of our Lord and Saviour, so any self-respecting copper would stick around till the bitter end, etc etc.

"Merry Christmas, to you too, Scrooge," had been Sam's parting shot, before leaving.

Outside, he'd breathed deeply, hyper-aware of the bracing cold and the start of a snowfall that would no doubt be reduced to filthy slush by morning, but for now lent an air of hope and wonder to the usually-grim surroundings.

Amazing what a few strands of fairy lights could do to brighten up the flat. Once a cross between a prison and a madman's cell, it was actually starting to feel like a home. It even smelled like one, as the chicken sautéed and the garlic sizzled, ready for the vegetables to hit the frying pan.

Cooking, like so much in life, was all about about the right combination and the right timing. An accident. Betrayal. Second chances. A knock on the door.

"Hello, Annie."

"Hi, Sam."

She looked beautiful, in a blue dress that would have drawn the usual rude remarks and cat-calls if she ever showed so much leg or cleavage at the office.

"Sit down. Dinner's almost ready."

He watched her take a place on the sofa, remembering the first time they'd come here together, and everything they'd been through since.

It had been a slow, painstaking process to regain her trust and earn her love.

_Hurts doesn't it? That's 'cause it's real!_

Of all the things he'd come back for, he felt that need the most acutely. Annie had been there for him when he was stumbling around in despair and raving like a lunatic; his one source of solace in a world that he thought had a gone horribly wrong.

"It smells wonderful."

"Wait until you taste it."

Her smile matched the gentle twinkle of the lights. God, she was beautiful. And here. Annie was _here_.

He gestured toward the radio and she turned it on. Christmas music, of course. Each word actually meaning something to him.

_The hopes and fears of all the years, are met in thee tonight._

Sam went into the kitchen and arranged a plate of food, taking a few seconds to throw a sprig of parsley on it. Just enough to be festive, without screaming "nouveau". He brought it out to her and tried not to watch while she took the first bite, but couldn't help himself. Probably making her nervous, but not any more than he was. He forced himself to look away as long as he could. Maybe a few seconds. When he turned back, he saw the same expression he sometimes got from Gene, usually preceded yet another epithet aimed at his masculinity.

"Mum taught me," he said, answering an un-asked question.

"I'm a rubbish cook," she admitted, seeming stunned by the crisp snap of a properly prepared green bean. "My mother says it's a lucky thing I got a job, since I'll never find a man to take care of me, if I can't make a proper roast."

"You don't _need_ a man to take care of you." He'd meant to praise her toughness and intelligence, but realised she might take it badly. He still didn't completely understand what it was like for women then. Probably ever, if you asked Maya. "No offence, I hope."

"None taken."

But he wasn't sure, so it seemed the best time to hand her the box.

"Merry Christmas, Annie. And thanks."

"For what?"

"For everything." For all the things he still couldn't explain and all the things he hoped for the future together.

"Oh, Sam…it's….I can't."

He'd been expecting something like that.

"Sure you can."

The bracelet had jumped out at him the minute he walked into the jewelers, and he'd bought it without hesitation, knowing it was perfect for her.

He put it on her left wrist, and admiring the sparkle and shine of it against her skin, before pulling her close for a kiss, keeping things gentle, but inquisitive. The answer was there, as her lips opened, and he felt the tip of her tongue teasing against his own. The weight of guilt lifted as her fingers tightened around his arms.

"Annie," he whispered, breathing in her perfume, brushing a cheek against hers.

"Yes, she said softly, seemingly caught up in the same spell.

"Will you stay with me?" he asked, remember the last time, when the question had ended with the word _tonight_, and he'd thought that home was 2006.

"Sam?"

There was passion, but determination in her voice. This wasn't a woman who could be had for dinner and a few baubles, so matter how well-seasoned his fricassee.

"I'm not going anywhere." A fact, and also a promise he was determined to keep.

Annie gave him a sly, sexy smile, and Sam felt himself flushed with hope and heat.

"Mind if I finish dinner first?"

He didn't mind. They had all the time in the world.

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas. Make the Yuletide, gay._

Could those really be the lyrics?

There was nothing gay, in any sense of the word, happening at CID, unless you counted Gene sitting at his desk treating himself to a Christmas morning tipple. The only indication that he'd even left the office was a change of tie.

Sam couldn't keep a certain glow out of his own voice.

"Morning Guv. Did the city manage to survive the night before Christmas without a major crime wave?"

"No thanks to you. And what've you got to be so chipper about?"

"It's Christmas."

"And you got yourself a present last night didn't you? Bit of plonk tail, I reckon."

Sam knew better than to give the game away by reminding Gene that Annie wasn't a plonk anymore, but he wasn't a good enough liar to pull off a complete denial. He took advantage of his right to remain silent, not that Gene had ever respected that one either.

"How was she then? Did you break her in? She ain't put out for anyone else around here that I know of, and believe me, I'd know."

He didn't want Gene's filthy mouth to sully his memories of last night, in all it sweetness and perfection. Making love to Annie had made him feel complete and completely safe.

"Shut yer gob, Gene!"

"Touchy, touchy. What's the matter, Sammy? Did she just lie there like a beached whale and make you do all the work?"

He could have walked away, probably should have, but this was him and Gene; somehow it never worked out that way.

"What's it to you anyway? Jealous? Nothing in your _Christmas stocking_? Massive failure of the world famous sexual prowess? Someday they'll have a little blue pill to help out with that."

"What are you on about, Tyler?"

Gene was on his feet, nostrils flaring, and Sam wondered what solid object was about to come in contact with which portion of his anatomy.

"Nothing," he said, trying to keep his voice calm, in hope of escaping undamaged, although he had to admit that these scenes were part of what he'd come back for as well.

The adrenaline rush that accompanied the sight of Gene Hunt in full roar, was more than slightly addictive. Maya used to call him a glutton for punishment because he was willing to work the toughest cases.

_What's going on in there?_

She'd never had a clue, but then again, maybe he didn't either.

"Could be I'm just concerned about my people. Don't want the team going to hell in a bucket just 'cause you've had a tiff with your girlfriend and gone off half-cocked."

Never had a gun-based metaphor sounded quite so obscene.

"Everything's fine. I'm here to work. Got any new cases?"

"I've got a case of how come my DI's spent three months sniffing around Miss Annie Bloody Cartwright without a look toward them what actually needs him."

Sam took a quick peek around the office, checking for any sign of the Test Card Girl. This had to be some sort of hallucination. Gene couldn't possibly be saying what Sam thought he was hearing anymore than Sam could be feeling a very specific rising excitement at the idea that "need" meant something more than professional usefulness.

"I'm not sure I take your meaning," he said, cautiously, edging toward the office door, hoping safety, if not sanity lay on the other side. He was still dealing with the man who'd held Stephen Warren in far more contempt for his sexuality than any of his criminal activities.

Gene kept lumbering toward him, shaking his head in a mockery of sympathy.

"And you being such a smart one, while all the time you can't see what's right in front of your face."

He appeared to consider the matter and decide that the quarry was no longer worth the pursuit, before returning to his desk and sitting down emphatically with his legs spread wide.

"Where's my Christmas present?"

It had to be a wind-up or worse. He looked at the window, clouded with grime, but still visible from out the outer office. Ray, Chris, or even god forbid Annie, could be waiting to walk through in as soon as his knees followed their irresistible impulse toward the floor. All part of Gene's plan to expose him for exactly what he'd been implying since the first day, ignoring everything that had happened since. All the times they'd saved each other's arses. The fact that Sam had made the ultimate commitment to this place and time.

The flying leap of faith he'd taken to get back here was nothing compared to walking three steps in slow motion that brought him close to Gene Hunt. He helped himself to a drink from the bottle, before starting to kneel. His mind still wouldn't accept what was happening.

"But you're not…" he said, reaching for Gene's belt buckle.

"Never said I was."

"You're my DCI."

As if non-fraternisation rules meant anything to Gene, or Sam actually had a high ground to stand on, given what he'd been up to last night and again early this morning, before Annie left to spend Christmas Day with her family.

"I already know you can talk. Show me you can do something else with that mouth of yours."

The zip was down and there it was. Gene's great big unruly cock. The head stretching Sam's lips as he took in its girth, heavy balls in his hands. No turning back from the reality as he drank in the taste and smell and gorgeous power of Gene Hunt. The slight sigh as he tongued the sensitive ridge and felt the responding throb in his mouth.

Fingers on the back of his neck, teasing the fine hairs, coaxing him to go suck harder, go deeper, take more. He did, losing himself in the euphoria.

This was it. Pure happiness on his knees. Joy, in fact. It made him think of another Christmas song and he hummed a little, using the vibrations to push Gene to some place where he lost control, pushed too hard, making Sam gag and tear up a little. He didn't care, not when Gene was gasping his name and coming down his throat. He tried to swallow but couldn't get it all.

"It's all right, Sammy. The missus says I'm a lot of man for anyone."

Gene reassuring him? Now he knew it was a dream. One when Gene helped him off the floor before dabbing as Sam's mouth and chin with a handkerchief before kissing him hard on the lips as if to mark his possession, and continued with Gene pulling Sam onto his lap like a perverted department store Santa.

"Is this what you wanted for Christmas, Tyler?" he asked, not waiting for an answer, as he undid Sam's trousers. Of course he did. He'd been hard the whole time, aching against the unforgiving tightness of his current wardrobe.

There wasn't a lot of finesse or lubrication, but there wasn't much needed under the circumstances. The sight of Gene spitting roughly into his own hand pretty much set things in motion, and the knowledge that it was Gene getting him off with one hand, while whispering a stream of guttural filth into his ear, was all it took.

He came in a hard gush that left him gasping, limp and insanely happy.

"Merry Christmas, Gene."

Sam sat at his desk trying to focus on the report that Gene had flung down with orders that it be top priority.

Break-in at an orphanage. Gene Hunt to the rescue. Find the blaggards and make sure the kids get Christmas dinner. So much for the Scrooge act.

"Get your arse in gear, Tyler. We got a tip that one of the bastards is trying to unload the birds at a posh restaurant in Hyde. Let's beat your old cronies to the punch, shall we?"

"Right with you, Guv."

His mind was still on last night and this morning. He'd had tidings of comfort and joy and he didn't want to give up either one. In fact, he wanted to keep both, but he didn't want to hurt anyone with lies. He'd done enough of that already.

There was a perfectly good solution, although he wasn't sure if Gene or Annie would raise the bigger ruckus over the idea of a threesome, but maybe _this_ 1973 really was a brave new world where anything and everything was possible.

Only one way to find out and it was all about the timing.

Another song came to mind, something his mum always used to start playing on Christmas day.

_But in case I stand one little chance,  
Here comes the jackpot question in advance...  
What are you doing New Year's... New Year's Eve?_


End file.
